CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 17
That night Kari gave in to temptation and googled Ian Hart.
Sixty million options for her to choose from.
Kari scrolled through all the recent junk, the scandal and the delighted way in which the fanzines trumpeted how the star was brought to earth. Further back she went, until she was looking at Ian the star.
And his ladies.
So many of them. All so lovely, glittering, smiling, showing the world how thrilled they were to be with this man. Stars and fashion models. Women who looked perfect in whatever.
She could not get a clear impression of how Ian felt about it all, however. Not even about the one rumored to be his fiancée. A model. From Bulgaria . . .
Kari cut off her phone and pressed it to her middle. Willing herself to calm down. Swallowing against her queasiness.
When she could, she returned to her little pallet. Wishing she could take it back. Not know what she did now.
Ian Hart belonged to the world she had fled.
* * *
She was woken by sounds in the kitchen. The kitten was still asleep, nuzzled up to the nape of her neck. Kari slipped from the bed and found full, late-morning sunlight streaming over the eastern hills. She washed her face and slipped into her clothes. But when she opened the bedroom door, Sienna remained sprawled on Kari’s pillow, staring up at her.
“Aren’t you hungry?”
Sienna’s only response was a minute twitch of her tail.
Kari waved toward the open door. “Indrid is my oldest and dearest friend.”
Another twitch.
Kari left the door open and followed the smell of fresh-brewed coffee to the kitchen. “Sienna is being shy. Again. Maybe I should carry her in.”
“Perhaps she’s a one-woman cat,” Indrid said. “Then again, many young animals are shy.”
Kari made herself a cup, sipped, and followed Indrid to the rear porch. “I checked out Ian online.”
Indrid settled into one of the two rockers Noah had left. “When?”
“Middle of the night.” Another sip. “I didn’t get back to sleep until dawn.”
Indrid gave the sunlit hills a long look. “And now he wants to be with you.”
“For the moment.”
The older woman shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the case.” A sip, then, “And neither do you.”
“He thinks I’m special.”
“Because you are.”
“You’ve always said that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Have you seen the women he’s been with?” Kari almost wailed the words.
“No. But I can imagine. And here’s the plain and simple truth, dear one. Now he wants to be with you.”
“But for how long?”
“None of us can ever know the answer to that. Which only makes our time together more special.” A final sip, and then she rose to her feet and started for the door. “More coffee?”
Kari passed over her cup without looking up.
When Indrid returned, Kari said, “You sound so . . .”
“Calm? Pleased?” Indrid settled back in the rocker. “Happy for you?”
“Glib.”
Indrid rocked a long moment, then asked, “Have you called your managers?” When Kari remained silent, Indrid added, “Your friends?”
“I just woke up.”
“My dear, those two are no doubt wearing grooves in the gallery floor.”
“How can I call anyone? I haven’t decided whether I’m going or not.”
“Now you’re being silly. Of course you are. It was clear enough in your gaze last night. You want to go. You want to be with him. There. At this event.” Indrid’s gaze was warm. Beckoning. Filled with good humor. “You want to know if he prefers you over all these fashionable ladies who litter his past, no? Fine. Call Graham and Rafi. Let those two wonderful men celebrate with you.”
“Indrid—”
“Dear one, go inside and make the call.” She turned back to the day. “I need to be heading home. But first, I want to see what you’ve been working on since your arrival.”
* * *
That next morning, Danny shifted their session to Arthur’s studio. Connor was reluctant, but Ian wholeheartedly agreed with the move. He knew it was a far better spot for the whirlwind to come, and so did Arthur. It was crucial that they pull Connor away from the stage, where he was most comfortable. Where playing with his little group was fun. As Ian’s former instructors used to say, fun would not take them where they needed to go.
It was one thing to perform for a group of longtime enthusiasts in Sylvie’s restaurant, where any small error would be happily overlooked. The same easy state also existed during recording sessions, where multiple takes were common. But they would face an entirely different situation in Miami. They would be playing in front of a highly critical audience who had paid a hundred dollars or more for a seat. Not to mention the professional critics and journalists eager to headline the next chapter of Ian Hart’s fall from the lofty heights.
Danny had gently insisted their backup group be expanded to include the three women. Arthur complained mightily, but Ian suspected he was equally pleased. The women’s voices and professional manners would go a long way toward smoothing out any rough edges. Which there were bound to be.
With Arthur’s silent agreement, Danny asked for the musical lineup to expand beyond the film’s soundtrack. Woven into this were numbers from Connor’s existing repertoire, with a focus on songs that fashioned a seamless musical tapestry.
Over an early lunch of sandwiches and coffee, Connor asked how large Ian thought their audience would be. “That is, assuming anybody shows up.”
“No question there,” Ian replied. “Kiki says the gig’s been sold out for weeks.”
Connor dropped his sandwich back on the wrapper. “How many?”
“I’ve never played the small salon. Three-fifty to four hundred is my guess.”
Trish, the eldest of the ladies, asked, “And the big place where you have your first concert?”
“Just over two thousand,” Ian responded.
Lucinda asked, “Can we come?”
“If you want, sure.”
“Is that a joke?” This from Maxine, the de facto team leader. “Do we want. Huh.”
“It’s classical music,” Ian pointed out, only half joking. “No jive. Very little beat. Hip-hop is barred at the door.”
Lucinda raised a hand the size of a skillet. “You’re looking for a taste of Dominican heat, you don’t watch out.”
Trish asked, “Didn’t you say that first gig is sold out, too? How can you find us seats?”
“They almost always assign me a box,” Ian told her.
“A box?” Lucinda.
“He means one of those little rooms with the balcony.” Maxine.
“It will be a tight fit, but I think we can probably get everyone inside.” Ian addressed Connor. “Sylvie is welcome, if she’s coming.”
Connor continued to inspect the sandwich he wasn’t eating. “The wife says it all depends on the babies.”
Maxine leaned in close. “You all right there? You’ve gone all green.”
“Connor will be fine,” Arthur said.
“If there’s room, Megan would love to join everyone in the box,” Danny said. “But I’ll probably be stationed by Arthur’s control board. You know. In case the man here needs reminding which knobs to twist.”
“There’s probably some polite way to describe just how unwelcome a producer is in my box,” Arthur replied. “It just doesn’t come to mind.”
“I’ll have a word with Kiki soon as we’re done here.” Ian’s phone rang. He checked the readout and instantly rose to his feet. “I need to take this.”
Ian left the studio and took the path around to the rear wall. “Kari?”
“Hello, Ian.”
“Is something wrong?”
“I have no idea.”
“You sound worried.”
“I’m so scared.”
He took a long moment, savoring the view and the words. There was no longer a wise older woman playing go-between. This was him and her. “How can I help?”
“I don’t know if anyone can. I don’t even know why I called.”
“I’m glad you did.” He paused, then added more softly, “Let me try to help. Please. I really want to.”
Her next words came in a breathless rush. “Indrid is out on the porch. She thinks I should call Graham and accept. You know, Miami. I think . . . she might be right. She probably is. But everything is moving so fast.”
“I understand.”
“Do you? Really?”
“Totally. I came here thinking I’d step back from the mad rush. Do a big nothing for as long as I needed. Instead, it’s been full speed ahead since the moment I walked into Megan’s office. Doing what I ran from and more besides. A lot more.”
She was silent. Her breaths puffed against his ear. As intimate a moment as any he’d known in a long while.
“Kari, I understand,” he repeated. “You’re facing your own hurricane. You’re worried about what happens to your gift.”
She did not respond.
“So here’s what I think. Take as long as you need. You’re the only person who can decide whether it’s right to go.”
“Indrid thinks I should. That I need to.”
He softly pounded a fist on the wall. Marking time for his words. “Maybe she’s right. But this is your decision. Not hers. And the key here, the absolute most important thing, is what impact this will have on your next work.”
Kari did not respond.
“Not what you’ve already painted. Your people see the outside. The commercial. They’re focused on what is already done. Already out there. You’re worried about your next work of art.”
Kari remained silent.
“And you’re right to be worried, Kari. Because that’s the most important issue of all. What happens when you come back from the hurricane, and you’re working on your new painting?”
A long silence, then, “I’m going to Miami.”
“How can I help?”
“Be my friend.”
“Kari.” It was his turn to pause for a soft breath. “I want that more than almost anything.”
“I don’t even know what that word means. Friend.”
“You know,” Ian replied. “You just don’t know what it means with me.” When Kari remained silent, he went on, “Thank you for trusting me, Kari. So much.”